


You're My Land Ahoy

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: Space Pirates Without the Space Part [3]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Ballroom Dancing, Canon Non-Binary Character, Fluff and Humor, Heist, Juno wears a ballgown and looks gorgeous, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Pirate Captain Buddy Aurinko hold my hand challenge, Swordfighting, and are very domestic while doing so, canon-typical lack of homophobia!!, essentially juno and nureyev have to infiltrate a gala and steal a map, the Ruby 7 is a parrot, this is split pretty evenly between fluff and action
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26784445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Zolotovna's security system would make any sensible scalawag would pick up their sword and run back to their boat, renouncing every sin and theft and plundering in the hopes that, if the guards weren’t merciful, their deity of choice might be.Nureyev, however, was not any sensible scalawag. He much preferred to be called a pirate, a buccaneer, a swashbuckler, or ‘Juno Steel’s favorite career criminal.’
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: Space Pirates Without the Space Part [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949893
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	You're My Land Ahoy

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! A couple of content warnings just to cover all my bases, but overall pretty light!! Be gay, do crime
> 
> Content warnings for heights, falls, swordfighting, arranged marriage mention

As much as Peter Nureyev held bitter distaste for opulence, he had to admit, Governor Zolotovna had style. 

The Governor’s palace glittered like a diamond in a greenhouse, which was to say it was an architectural relic of the Royally appointed ruler’s home that looked almost absurd set alongside palm fronds and sandy beaches. 

Every wall wore some bright, overenthusiastic color of paint or pattern of paper, and every window draped lace onto the floor, just to show off how much unnecessary fabric Zolotovna could afford to buy. When lace and paint and wallpaper weren’t attacking the eyes, those great planes of wall were decorated in as many oil painting portraits as they were great displays of swords and guns. 

It seemed Zolotovna had half the port’s armory hanging on her walls. Nureyev had long since checked to ensure the swords were blunt and the guns were empty, but the show of force didn’t go unnoticed. He supposed that was the point. 

Everything about the mansion oozed wealth like pus from a rotten wound. Every door handle was embellished and even the creaking floor of the stairs was cut with inlaid wood. The message was clear. Zolotovna was the kind of person it was better not to cross, because she had as many guards as she did weapons on her walls, and she had enough money to hire an army twice. 

If Nureyev had to guess, she was attempting to ward off pirates. Given the amount of wealth still remaining on the walls, he also had to guess the decor alone was doing a fairly good job of it. Any sensible scalawag would pick up their sword and run back to their boat, renouncing every sin and theft and plundering in the hopes that, if the guards weren’t merciful, their deity of choice might be. 

Nureyev, however, was not any sensible scalawag. He much preferred to be called a pirate, a buccaneer, a swashbuckler, or ‘Juno Steel’s favorite career criminal.’

Peter was fairly sure Juno Steel was the brunt of the reason Zolotovna’s show of strength had so little effect on him. As much as he wanted to eye every guard and sword and decoratively armed commodore, it was far too difficult to take his gaze off of the glittering jewel of a lady on his arm. 

The last time Captain Aurinko made port, she insisted the two of them get fitted for clothes opulent enough that their entrance to the Governor’s ball would go unquestioned. Nureyev had to admit, he was quite partial to his own blues and golds, but had expected to be even more partial to whatever number Juno received for the occasion. Juno, however, had decided to keep the gown a surprise for the infuriatingly long voyage to the Governor’s port. 

When the lady took his arm at the foot of the Governor’s palace, Nureyev saw exactly why. 

Juno was a vision, from the floral-patterned gold of his gown to the eyepatch, custom made to match, and it seemed Nureyev wasn’t the only one who knew it. The gown drew the eye of half the room when they made their entrance. Apparently, the fabric was dazzling enough that the majority of the packed ballroom missed when Juno tripped over his own feet. The attendees had eyes only for the kind of dress that made their egos and their wallets feel uncomfortably small. 

Nureyev, on the other hand, had eyes only for the lady who wore that gown with such ease. 

“Earth to Nureyev,” Juno snorted from his seat at Peter’s side. 

“Yes?” Nureyev all but jumped, blinking away spots in his eyes from where they had fixed on Juno’s gown for a moment too long. 

“Are you gonna make eyes at me all evening, or are you gonna ask me to dance?” Juno teased. 

“Why, that’s quite the bold assumption,” Nureyev pretended to be taken aback. “Perhaps it was too forward of me to merely appreciate the appearance of my lover.”

“I’ll get the tailor’s details if you like the dress that much,” Juno returned with a shrug. 

“You know, Juno,” Nureyev began, a smile beginning to bloom across his face. “I’m far less concerned with the gown than with the individual within it. You wear it like an ancient goddess wears a robe, my love.”

Juno snorted. 

“Are you laughing at me? I weave you poetry from air, and you laugh,” Nureyev huffed, even though his voice wavered with a chuckle of his own.

“It’s just—” Juno broke off, grasping for words. “It’s very you of you to say that.”

“I should hope so.”

Juno choked back another laugh behind his gloved hand. 

“You’ve gotta stop doing that, or else I’m gonna blow our cover,” Juno wheezed. “I don’t think anybody else here is having half as much fun as we are. We gotta shut up and start looking miserable.”

“Fascinating,” Nureyev mused. “And why do you think that is?”

“Arranged marriages and too much money to enjoy,” Juno shrugged. 

“If you’re that concerned with fitting into the crowd, I suppose I’ll just have to ask Buddy to order us into wedlock,” Nureyev smiled. 

“Yeah, right,” Juno snorted. “I can see it now. ‘Go marry the love of your life, or I’ll make you walk the plank.’ Horrible choices there. I don’t know what I’d ever do.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” Nureyev huffed, knowing if he let Juno go on for much longer, that stupid, domestic grin he could never seem to control would waltz across his face and ruin their appearance as fairly miserable nobles. “Just pretend you hate me, darling.”

“Don’t think I can help you with that,” Juno returned. “Why don’t I make you dance with me so you can scowl for a little while?”

“Is this part of your motive to continue with the heist, or is this just because you think it’s—” Nureyev broke off to curl his lip. “Cute.”

“It’s adorable.”

Nureyev sighed. 

“You’re a menace, my dear,” he returned, though when floor cleared and a minuet began lilting its way from the direction of the fiddler and harpsichordist, Nureyev bowed and offered Juno his arm. 

“There’s that scowl I love,” Juno grinned victoriously as he stepped out onto the floor. 

Peter hardly had it in him to be anything more than jokingly upset, for dancing with Juno was little different than the rush he felt when sailing the sea. It seemed every moment of his life had led him to this moment, rocking fore and aft across a land-bound dance floor. Seabreeze snuck through the windows even then, and with Juno held close in his arms and salt in his nose, Nureyev felt a rush like the waves themselves. 

He didn’t care about Juno’s gown or the makeup that made the both of them shine like gemstones in a crown. They could be dancing in rags, for all he cared. For those brief minutes, he held both of his loves close, and even if his heart sank when the musicians played the final chord, the exhilarated grin on Juno’s face made it all worthwhile. 

Nureyev’s greatest regret was only being able to kiss Juno’s glove when the number came to a close and he walked Juno back to their seats. 

“Not half bad,” Juno grinned, a little more breathless than Nureyev was comfortable with. 

“Is the corset fitting alright?”

Juno grimaced. 

“I don’t usually work out in them, if you know what I’m saying,” Juno sighed, the hand not in Peter’s trailing away to his bodice. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Accustomation,” Nureyev shrugged. “It’s no different than that awful way you take your coffee.”

“Hey—” Juno started. 

“Just because you like your coffee strong enough to climb out of the cup and bite you doesn’t mean all of us have to understand your predilections,” Peter pressed forward. “And if you’re that adamant about hating the thing, I know a definite way to get you out of it as soon as possible.”

Both of their gazes trailed to the map above the fireplace, a work of art in its own right. Though the corners struggled to stay flat, the parchment had yellowed, and one end of the work was singed, Nureyev knew well it was the most valuable adornment on any wall within the palace. According to Buddy’s briefing, the looping scrawl in the margins of the map counted paces and led to a certain retired pirate’s treasure, hidden away on a desert island. 

If it hadn’t been hanging above the hearthfire across the room, Nureyev would have thought it to be mere legend. 

“So what’s the game plan here?” Juno asked, though whether furtivity or his struggling lungs had brought his voice lower, Peter could not tell. 

“Do you see those swords on either side of the fire?” Nureyev began. 

“We’re both armed,” Juno replied slowly. 

“We’ll clear the crowd more quickly with those,” Peter continued. “Between dances, I think we ought to arm ourselves a little more thoroughly, take the map, and make a break out that window.”

Juno swallowed, eyes wide. 

“We’re three stories up,” he choked. 

“And there was quite the length of rope by the window on the southeast side of the ballroom, if I’m remembering correctly,” Peter beamed as if his words had been some kindness to his date, rather than a plan for a heist. 

“You’d better be remembering correctly,” Juno returned. “You don’t need to get any flatter.”

“I take personal offense to that, you know,” Nureyev huffed. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” Juno huffed. “Let’s steal ourselves a map.”

They walked through the crowd arm and arm, sharing a kind of knowing glance that suggested they might visit the palace gardens for a private moment between a husband and wife. Perhaps, their interruption of the dancers might be seen as their leaving. As much as he liked roses, Nureyev was fairly sure they didn’t do well in soil that was mostly sand. Even as tempting as it sounded to take Juno on the walk he was insinuating, his heart pounded harder as the map grew ever closer. 

When one song drew to a close, they shared a nod, then parted. Nureyev got to the nearest sword first and gave it a ferocious yank, feeling somewhat like King Arthur prepared to loose excalibur from the unyielding stone. 

However, Nureyev was fairly sure when King Arthur reached for his legendary sword, a few things went distinctly different. First of all, nobody screamed. Second of all, the sword actually parted with its unorthodox scabbard. 

Nureyev tugged again, feeling every eye in the room on him like a mosquito. The sword didn’t budge. Out of the corner of his eye, he could have sworn he saw Juno’s face in his hands. When another two tugs left his hands empty still, he sighed and drew the decorative, unfortunately blunt sword he wore to denote nobility. 

His own sword seemed to do the trick, and the immediate crowd parted. Even if the plan had resumed working for the time being, the pounding of footsteps up the twining hallway of stairs had him tearing the map from the wall and Juno tearing him towards the window by the wrist. Nureyev tucked the paper under his arm as he sprinted, breath catching in his throat in protest of the fireplace’s smoke and the oppressive heat of the summer night. 

At some point, the map parted with his hand, though he could have sworn he saw a gold glove catch around it and stuff it somewhere unseen. Nureyev didn’t have much time to worry, however, for that same glove was soon yanking a vase off of the nearest table and chucking it through the window Peter had formerly pointed out. 

Nureyev took a deep breath, then seized his arms around his partner, regretting all those skirts when he found himself maneuvering through a shattered window and onto an expensively tiled roof. 

“Tell me when to close my eyes,” Juno grimaced as Nureyev’s hand found the nearby rope. 

“Just lose your lunch downwind of me, dear,” Peter smiled. Juno groaned. 

“You’re really unhelpful sometimes.”

“Tell me that again when I’m done saving your life,” Nureyev returned, seizing his free arm around the rope with all the grip strength he could muster. “Close your eyes, dear.”

Even as the world disappeared from below him, both the rope in his hand and his partner, clinging to his chest like a lifeline, kept him tied to the earth as a half dozen palm trees, two guards, and a rooftop whizzed by. Nureyev wished he could have made a far neater landing, but when he all but crashed into a garden bush, his only worry was keeping Juno from feeling the brunt of what had been reduced to a five foot fall. 

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked, shock pushing a laugh from his chest. 

“Ugh,” Juno returned. 

At least he was speaking, and a moment later, standing. Nureyev felt himself pulled to his feet by a hand he would have known with or without the signifying glove, and once his heart had ceased its shaky pounding, drew Juno’s hand to his lips for a kiss. 

“Sap,” Juno snorted. 

Nureyev just squeezed his hand in response. 

“Why don’t we go home, dear,” Peter smiled, only parting with Juno’s hand to reach for his sword as they began to make their way out of the garden and towards the dock. 

Nureyev was about to appreciate the moonlight anointing Juno’s face and turning a gentle sea a gentler shade of silver, when instead he was forced to consider the moonlight glinting off an approaching guard’s blade. 

“Halt!” One of two red-clad men called. 

“You take left, I’ll take right,” Juno hissed. 

“You always take right,” Nureyev complained, though he was far too busy parrying the left guard’s blow with his own blade to do so for long. 

“You can take right next time, geez,” Juno grumbled.

His voice was barely audible between the clanging of swords and the sheer volume of his scowl, but Nureyev found himself laughing anyway, helped considerably by the fact that he had just landed the base of his sword between the guard’s eyes. 

“Do you need help over there, darling?” Nureyev offered loftily, stepping around the now unconscious guard. A concussion was enough on its own. Peter doubted the guard needed his fingers trodden upon as well. 

“That would be nice,” Juno shot back between gritted teeth, looking as much like a goddess as ever with the silver of his sword flashing in artful tandem with the gold of his gown. “Real nice.”

Nureyev drew his own blade once more, though the prospect of fighting two pirates seemed to outweigh the guard’s loyalty to King and Country, for he turned and ran before Peter could do much more than school his face into a threatening expression. When he found himself faced with the guard’s back, he turned to Juno instead. They shared a shrug, and then a smile, and then a laugh. Nureyev offered his elbow, just to keep the both of them steady all the way back to the ship. 

The Carte Blanche was a fine vessel by day, and even finer under a gentle, temperate night. As someone who had commandeered his way from port to port for the better part of his life, Nureyev had spent years under the assumption that he would never grow attached to a vessel in particular. However, after a few months employment under Captain Aurinko with a crew that was beginning to feel like a family, Nureyev couldn’t help the swell in his chest when the prow of the ship drew into sight. 

He must have squeezed Juno’s hand in his accidental joy, for when the gangplank was lowered and the pair of them made their way back onto the deck, Juno fixed him with a particularly domestic smile. If not for the company of the captain and crew, Nureyev would have kissed it off of his face right then and there. 

“I am glad to see you both uninjured,” Jet greeted, face falling slightly when Ruby fluttered off his head to greet Nureyev. 

She let out a series of tweets, as if telling Peter some elaborate story of what had happened in his absence. Nureyev couldn’t help a grin when she bonked his head with her beak and made a kissing noise. 

“I’m glad to see your bird agrees,” Nureyev chuckled. 

“I am glad to see we agree that Ruby is my bird,” Jet pressed forward. 

Juno rested a hand on Nureyev’s arm before he could muster any kind of retort. However, as Buddy straightened her feathered hat and strolled over from the prow of the ship, Peter was sure any harsh response would have bowed its head in respect as well. 

“Juno, Ransom,” she greeted with a pair of nods. “Let’s see that map of yours.”

Nureyev felt his heart drop into his stomach, hands racing over his every pocket in search of a piece of paper that stubbornly evaded him. He shot a desperate look to Juno, his pulse only regulating when Juno responded with an eye roll he knew was affectionate. 

“It’s here,” Juno sighed, though it sounded as if he were trying to hold back a laugh. 

Juno set his sword aside and replaced the hand down the front of his corset, from which he produced the rolled up map, entirely undamaged. 

Rita cackled. Vespa gagged. 

“I’ll—” Buddy broke off, for once at an utter loss for words. “I will applaud your ingenuity, darling.”

“Booby maps,” Juno grinned. 

As the shockwave of Juno’s joke shattered through the crew, Nureyev himself spitting out a groan, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of affection in equal measure. 

Here was Juno Steel, a lady who would wear a gown like a goddess, while also stuffing a map down the bodice just to hide it from a pair of officers. He could glitter in a gold that brought the sun to envy while also wielding a sword like he could fight off a lion by hand. Even as he himself winced at his own joke, Nureyev couldn’t help his grin. 

Here was Juno Steel, and Peter had the dumb luck of being his partner.

**Author's Note:**

> Woohoo!! Sorry for the pun. I could't not. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or I'll make ye walk the plank
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


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